100 Proof
by dietplainlite
Summary: Here be some drunk sex, and there is no plot. Probably same universe as Unnamed Things


**A/N I don't own these characters. Yada yada yada. **

Sherlock Holmes was having great difficulty getting the key to the front door of 221 Baker Street to go into the lock.

"Dammit," he muttered as he missed again. He leaned against the door to steady himself before trying again..

"Lemme try," said his companion, though she looked as bleary eyed as the detective, and had trouble focusing on his face as she looked at him.

"No, I've got it," he said, finally getting the key into the lock and turning it. He forgot that he was leaning on the door so he tripped grandly when he opened it, nearly falling into the foyer.

"Don't laugh, Molly," he said. "I could have died."

This only served to make her laugh harder, so his only recourse was to silence her by pressing her against the wall and kissing her. When he broke away, he whispered in her ear, one hand steadying himself on the wall and the other working its way into her jacket and under her shirt.

"We could do it right here."

"Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson is like twenty feet away," she said, playing with the top button of his shirt.

"Mrs. Hudson is in Marbella with her latest boyfriend. Entire building to ourselves." He took his hand off the wall to reach for the hem of her skirt and lost his balance, teetering sideways.

"Sherlock, I really don't want to have to explain to A&E that I got a concussion or a broken arm from being dropped by my secret boyfriend while having crazy drunk wall sex." She ducked under his arm and made her way upstairs.

"Wouldn't drop you," he said, following her and helping her along with a well-placed hand on her bum whenever she stumbled. "Besides, you'd be more likely to just sprain something. No A&E necessary."

"Oh then you'd be in a fine state if I had to miss work, wouldn't you?" She held out her hand for the key to the flat. He handed it over and she managed to unlock it on the third try.

"How'd this happen, anyway?" he said, struggling to remove his scarf.

"Because you casually said you could outdrink me and I'm a competitive little shit who doesn't know what's good for her and matched you shot for shot. You lost, by the way."

Sherlock managed to divest himself of his coat and started unceremoniously stripping off the rest of his clothes.

"That was stupid."

"Yes," she hiccupped. "We should eat something."

A quick search of Sherlock's cupboards showed a lamentable lack of anything edible. There were a few eggs and a not too dried out hunk of cheese in the fridge.

"I can make omelets. Sort of," Molly said.

"You'll burn the place down if you try to cook with fire," he said, kicking out of his trousers and flopping onto the sofa in just his pants." He waved his hand toward his laptop, which was within his reach on the coffee table. "Order something."

Molly came over and picked up the laptop, opened it, and laid it none too gently on his chest.

"Order it yourself."

She sat rather ungracefully at the other end of the sofa, her legs entangling with his. He scowled and bent his knees. This gave her more room and had the added benefit of allowing a bit more stability for the laptop. While he concentrated on the screen, she ran one foot up and down his shin, giggling when his leg twitched.

"If you don't stop that I'm going to end up ordering twenty two eggrolls instead of two."

She leaned forward and ran her hands up his shins to his thighs. "Is this better?"

Sherlock gave her a warning glance over the laptop screen and went back to ordering. A few keystrokes and a flourish of his hands later, he shut he laptop and tossed it back onto the coffee table, upsetting a box of microscope slides and a stack of case files in the process. He grabbed Molly around the waist and pulled her on top of him.

"That restaurant averages twenty three minutes delivery time, though considering the hour and the day of the week I would estimate seventeen minutes." He frowned and tugged at the cap sleeve of her dress. "Molly this is quite lovely and showcases your breasts to their full advantage, a fact that did not go unnoticed by eight five percent of the people we encountered tonight, but you really should have removed it by now."

She kissed him, somewhat sloppily, their teeth knocking together and resulting in another stream of giggles from Molly.

"Who will answer the door if we're both naked?"

"Molly, you ask that as though I have never answered the door naked." He kissed her, more carefully, in the same methodical manner in which he walked the few blocks home earlier, affecting a precision that wasn't there. He somehow managed the fine muscle control necessary to reach around and unzip her dress. She smiled against his mouth and sat up, knees on either side of him. The skirt of her dress was bunched up around her hips already, and he helped her push it up and over her head. Well, almost over her head. He hadn't unzipped it all the way and it got stuck on her arms as she'd tried to pull it off. She flailed around for a few seconds before he realized she needed help, as he'd been distracted by her bare breasts.

"Oh," he said, sitting up and tugging the dress toward him as she pulled back. When it finally slipped off, the momentum nearly sent her off of the sofa, but he caught her around her waist and pulled her close. He pushed her hair off of her face and asked if she was okay, enjoying the feeling of her chest against his.

"I could have died," she said.

"I'd never let that happen," he said. He pushed her hair away from her neck and kissed it very lightly at her pulse. He followed with an open mouthed kiss at her clavicle, tasting her briefly.

"Mmm you taste slightly different."

"When the liver can't break down all of the alcohol some of it can be excreted through the skin. You should know that." Her fingers in his hair tightened as he took her nipple between his teeth.

"Yes of course," he said after releasing it and before moving on to the other. "I have a few other things on my mind."

Molly ran her fingers down his neck and along his shoulders. "You have the most beautiful flush right now. Like a vampire who's just fed."

"You have such a way with dirty talk, Miss Hooper."

Her laughter turned into a moan as he slipped his finger into her knickers and found her clit. If it was clumsier than usual she didn't seem to mind; what he lacked in finesse he made up for with enthusiasm. She rolled her hips against his hand, gasping and holding him tighter as he slipped two fingers into her.

"You're ready for me, aren't you?" he said.

"All the time," she gasped as she fucked herself on his fingers. He withdrew his hand and pushed her back onto the sofa. She pulled her knickers off, narrowly avoiding kicking him in the face. He stood and pushed his pants down, kicking them across the room with more force than necessary. He was on top of her in a flash, kneeing her legs apart and pushing himself into her. She put her arms around his neck and arched against him, her nipples just grazing his chest.

"Holy shit you're so fucking hard," she said as he started to fuck her.

"I know," he gasped. "Extraordinary considering the circumstances."

With one hand on her breast and the other entwined with hers above their heads he continued to drive into her. It was artless and primal and there was reason to fear the state her skin would be in after rubbing against the leather couch so vigorously, but she met his strokes energetically, desperate for more friction. There was a bad moment when a drop of sweat from his forehead landed in her eye, but after swearing and wiping it away she told him to keep going. The actual words being "Don't you fucking dare stop."

He held on just long enough to feel her body quiver and tense and let go inside her as she came with a breathless "Holy fuck, Sherlock." Or that's what she probably meant it to be, her enunciation not being quite at its best.

He collapsed onto her chest, which was slick with his own sweat. She pushed his hair back from his forehead and ran her fingernails down to his nape before pushing him off of her.

"Too hot," she said.

He got up and went to the lavatory, spending a few minute alone and returning with a wet flannel and a towel. He gave her the towel to dry off while he took care of cleaning her up. He flopped at the other end of the sofa and she tucked herself against him, pulling a throw over them.

"You said you were too hot."

"And now I'm chilly. Like always."

He kissed the top of her head. "Yes." His stomach growled and she laughed.

"Now there's something you don't hear every day." And as though he had summoned it, the buzzer rang. Molly was confused for a moment before remembering that they had ordered food.

Surprisingly, Sherlock had the decency to wrap the towel around his lower half before bounding down the stairs.


End file.
